


I Could Never Be Weary of You

by ahurston



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Committed Relationship, David's Abandonment Issues, It all works out fine I promise, M/M, Patrick's Career Journey, Slice of Life, Tactile!David, married fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-27 15:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston
Summary: Patrick wants to maybe quit the store. David handles that super well.





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick was being weird. David had started noticing a few days ago, and now the evidence of general weirdness was everywhere he looked, unavoidable. 

  * The coffee in Patrick's only-for-tea thermos, steaming on the counter as Patrick finished getting ready for work

  * The sporty-looking bike, hanging from a hook next to the door, while Patrick's hiking boots languished in the closet

  * The stack of pulpy fiction on the coffee table, in place of an impenetrable tome on some topic no one understands, like tax law or the history of Ontario 

Just as David was really starting to fret about all this, Patrick emerged from their bedroom, ready for the day. In a fucking  _ red _ shirt.

“Ok, what the fuck is happening.”

Patrick looked at him blankly, like he was the one being accosted with a decidedly uncharacteristically colored shirt at 8:00 AM. 

David clarified. “What are you wearing?” 

“Oh.” Patrick looked down at himself, as if noticing it for the first time. “Right. I just picked this up when I was in Elmdale last week, visiting one of our vendors.”

“ _ Where _ in Elmdale though? Is there a new menswear shop open where the Blouse Barn used to be? You know what, that doesn’t matter. Why is it  _ red _ ?”

“Ok, so you hate it.” Patrick started to pull the shirt over his head. Now David felt like an asshole. 

“No! I mean, sort of, but that’s actually beside the point.”

“What is the point, then?” Patrick asked, muffled with his shirt half off. 

“It’s just that you seem to be...changing things.” David waved his hands in a general gesture at the entirety of Patrick and their whole apartment, once Patrick’s head had reemerged from the neckhole of his shirt. “The cycling, the coffee, the  _ red shirt _ , which is honestly so distracting right now. And then the other day at the cafe, you ordered a Rueben, Patrick. You’ve never ordered a Rueben before.”

Patrick opened his mouth as though to argue, but then quietly said, “You’re right, David.”

“And then you’ve been playing, what’s that game called, ‘The Fortnite’ - wait, what?” David had been on a roll. He had several more instances of weirdness to unload, and wasn’t prepared for Patrick to cop to them so readily. 

“I said, you’re right.”

“Oh. Ok. Um, care to elaborate?” David asked, mouth suddenly dry. “Are you. Bored? Or something?”

Patrick looked away from him, and David’s stomach was immediately relocated to somewhere in the basement of their apartment building. 

“No. I’m not bored.” So convincing. 

David tried not to panic. He really did. He absently twisted one of his gold wedding bands, an unconscious reminder that Patrick loved him, married him. If Patrick was bored, maybe it was fixable, and there was something David could do to make things more interesting? That had to be it. 

Patrick stepped forward, into David’s space. “I promise you, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine, we’re fine. We’ll talk tonight, ok? You’re still heading out to that llama farmers’ collective to discuss bringing in their cold weather accessories to the store for this winter, right?”

David nodded, hating llamas (they  _ spit _ , God), but hating the idea that Patrick was bored at least one hundred thousand times more. Fuck.

“Hon, it’s fine. We’re good, we are.” Patrick sounded sure, and he was smiling at him, and then kissing him in that uniquely sweet and sexy way, which was nice. David tried to be reassured. 

This was different than that time, four or five years ago now, when Alexis and that vintage Cosmo quiz had fucked with his mind and made him conquer an aerial ropes course to prove he and Patrick weren’t boring. But.  _ Red shirt _ . 

*

David spent the whole drive to and from the llama farm trying to talk himself away from the anxiety ledge, as well as simultaneously brainstorm some sex ideas that he and Patrick hadn't gotten around to yet. Did they own a stud finder? Would their landlord mind if David (or let's be realistic, Patrick) installed a ceiling-mounted harness system? Maybe that would be interesting enough for Patrick to get back to drinking tea, hiking, and baseball, and just be  _ Patrick  _ again. 

While David stopped for gas and continued fretting, his phone rang. Alexis. 

"David, what's going on?!" Fantastic.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," he replied, though he had a suspicion.

"I was just in your store getting beard oil for Ted, you know how he's growing out the scruff? And your husband was wearing a  _ red _ shirt."

"And?"

"' _ And _ '? You do remember that time when we were kids and Dad parted his hair to the other side, and the next thing we knew, he and Mom were sleeping in opposite wings of the house, and Dad took that two month trip to Albuquerque that he never explained? Patrick's red shirt is Dad's hair part, David. It  _ means something. _ "

"I know, Alexis. I'm working on it. And you are not helping."

"Just, fix it, David. Whatever you did. Fix it."

"Choke on one of Ted's dog treats, please," he replied, but his heart wasn't in it. Alexis was right. 

"We're still on for brunch at that new place with bottomless mimosas on Sunday though, right?"

"Yes, David. See you then. Love you."

"Loveyoutoo," he rushed out. This was a thing they did now, the 'I love you' thing, but it still wasn't totally natural for him. He did love her though. Even when she was annoyingly right. 

*

The winter accessory reconnaissance trip had taken the entire day, so David went straight home instead of to the store when he got back into town. After showering any possible trace llama off his body, he whipped up some penne with vodka sauce, Patrick’s favorite, and something they pretty much always had the ingredients around for. Even if this conversation went straight to hell, at least there’d be vodka.

Patrick didn’t look tense when he let himself into their apartment around 7:00, a navy blue sweatshirt zipped to his chin. He kissed David soundly, and lifting the lid of the saucepan on the stove, added, “It smells amazing in here, hon. Is that vodka pasta?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be right back though. Have to, um, change my shirt.”

David hummed in acknowledgement, and set the table. 

Over wine and full bowls of pasta, David decided to pull the bandaid off. “So I may have talked to Alexis.”

“Sounds really helpful already,” Patrick quipped.

“She might be worried that this is like that time with my Dad -”

“And the right-sided hair part. Yeah. She called me too. I’m not going to disappear to New Mexico, David.”

“Well, that’s reassuring anyway.” David took a large gulp of wine, hoping Patrick would take it from here.

“Nothing’s wrong with us, ok? Please believe me.”

David tried to project ‘belief’ onto his all-too-expressive face. Damn eyebrows didn’t let him hide anything. 

Patrick continued. “I just. I need something different.”

David’s stomach got reacquainted with their building’s basement for the second time that day. “Oh.”

“I love you, I love the store, it just feels like...”

“Do you want to move somewhere? Montreal, maybe? Go back to business school? Adopt a baby?” He couldn’t help but cringe on that last one. “Have a threesome? Get a tattoo? Go skydiving?” David wasn’t enjoying how he could hear his own voice speeding up in that way that Stevie called ‘manic-adjacent.’ 

“David, this isn’t a mid-life crisis. I’m just worried about how you’re going to react.”

“Always a guarantee that a person is going to love whatever you’re going to say next.” David might be crying, just a little. Fuck. 

“Oh hon, no. Shit. I’m doing this all wrong. Here’s the thing. I think, um, I think I want to do something different than the store. With my career.”

“You’re leaving me, then,” David said, despairingly. His $300-an-hour therapist from back in Manhattan would have told him he was catastrophizing, but he really couldn’t help it. 

“See, this was what I was worried about. No, David. Can you please back up, like, one thousand steps? I’m not leaving you.”

“Well, you’re leaving the store. And, if you hadn’t noticed, I kind of  _ am _ the store?”

“You’re more than the store,” Patrick said, way too much sincerity in his expression for David to handle right now. 

“Mmhmm.”

Patrick pushed away from the table, coming around to David’s side. “David, please come here.”

David got up, woodenly, accepting Patrick’s hand as he led them over to their bed, gently pushing on David’s shoulders to encourage him to sit on the end of it. “Can I explain while I rub your back?”

David nodded. Patrick’s hands went for David’s sweater, stripping it over his head along with his undershirt. David let himself fall backwards and crawled to lay face down in the center of the bed. 

Patrick settled himself over David’s ass, and God, the weight of him was so fucking comforting. How did he always know just what to do?

“Did I ever really explain why I invested in your business, David?” he said, hands pressing firmly on either side of his tailbone. 

David groaned. “Besides wanting a chance at this hot piece of ass?” he managed to reply.

Patrick ignored him. “Jesus, David. You’re tense. If I keep touching you, can I explain?”

David nodded into the pillow.

“So yeah, getting to spend more time with this cute guy I just met was a prime consideration when I wanted to get involved with the store. But it wasn’t just that.” 

Patrick’s hands zeroed in on the permanent knot of tension that lived below David’s right shoulder blade, forcing another sigh out of him.

“I love the energy of new businesses, seeing something grow and succeed when you’ve been there from the beginning. I...I think I miss it. That feeling of helping bring something to life. The store is so strong now, David. You don’t need me there anymore.”

At that ridiculous statement, David attempted to wriggle out from under Patrick so he could look Patrick in the eye when he set him straight on that front.  _ Didn’t need him. _ Jesus Christ.

“Wait, David. I’m not done. Please let me keep talking.” Patrick sunk his fingers into David’s hair, massaging his scalp. Cheater. “You remember me telling you about that small business incubator I interned for in college?”

David nodded again, as Patrick massaged his temples.

“Well, I’m still signed up for their email newsletters, and they’re hiring. It’s a remote consultant position, thirty hours per week, so I was thinking I’d still be able to work the store with you a couple days a week, and do this too.”

David turned his head to the side to say, “I’m trying really hard not to hate this.”

“And I appreciate that. Here, roll over,” Patrick said. David rolled over. “Can I undress you?”

“Only if you get naked too.”

“Deal. Lift your hips, babe.” 

David obliged, and Patrick peeled off his boxer-briefs and his own clothes, before sitting back on his heels and staring in a way David really, really enjoyed. 

“God, David. What am I going to do with you.”

“Whatever you want,” David replied. 

Patrick considered him. “You know I could never get tired of this, right?” he said, before leaning forward to suck David’s soft cock into his mouth. The vulnerability of having his dick sucked when he wasn’t even hard yet was something his former, pre-Patrick self wouldn’t have been able to fathom. 

Patrick has his nose pressed to David’s close-trimmed hair, tongue dipping down to swipe at his balls, a move that wasn’t physically possible when David was fully hard, though he was certainly getting there quickly now. 

Fuck, it sure didn’t  _ feel  _ like Patrick was bored, if the way he was hollowing his cheeks and humming around David’s cock was any indication. Maybe David could cancel that Amazon order for the ceiling-mounted harness after all. 

David stroked his cheek, thumbing at the corner of Patrick’s mouth where it was stretched around him. He wanted a turn, but he certainly didn’t want Patrick to stop. 

“Hey, you wanna sixty-nine?”

Patrick nodded, mouth still full of dick, which bumped David’s cockhead against his palette in a way that made David groan. 

Once Patrick had repositioned himself and planted his knees on either side of David’s shoulders, he swallowed his cock back down. David reached one hand between Patrick’s legs to angle his cock correctly, sucking it into his mouth. 

The combined effort of giving and getting head was enough to distract David from all the worries he could feel building up behind the anxiety dam in his mind. Almost.  _ What about quarterly taxes, though? And what if I get lonely there by myself? What if it isn’t any fun without you? _

As if sensing his distraction, Patrick nudged David’s legs apart with his elbows before pressing a finger firmly underneath his balls. David couldn’t help but groan at that, and Patrick took that as the encouragement it was to run a dry finger against his hole. David was helpless against that move, both hands scratching at Patrick’s ass as he came with a deep groan, sending Patrick coming down his throat, so easy in this position. 

Patrick shakily climbed off of him, but didn’t go far, thank God. Pulling the covers over them, he tugged David to lay his head on his chest, heartbeat steady and sure beneath David’s ear. 

“I’m not going anywhere, David. You couldn’t lose me if you wanted to.” 

“Ok, Patrick.” David kissed the skin over his heart, arm wrapped snugly around his chest, and tried to believe that. 


	2. Chapter 2

When David woke up the next morning, it was to the feeling of Patrick’s mouth pressing kisses across his shoulders, arm wrapped around him, one leg wedged in between his. Another break from routine, as Patrick usually was up and moving a full ungodly hour before him, but this was a deviation David was grateful for. 

“When’s your interview?” David asked. 

“I haven’t even applied yet. I wouldn’t have, not without talking to you first.”

“Oh.” This was news to David.

“Did you really think I’d make such a major decision, something that affects us both, unilaterally?” Patrick asked, the only person born after 1795 to use words like ‘unilaterally’ at ass o’clock in the morning.

“...No?”

“David.”

David rolled over. Oh shit, Patrick looked hurt. “It’s not that I think you’d hide something from me,” David clarified, fiddling with the buttons on Patrick’s old man pajama shirt. “I guess I’m just, historically, pretty used to not being consulted on other people’s decisions? Things have typically happened more  _ at _ me than  _ with _ me.” 

Patrick’s expression softened at that. David reminded himself that the look wasn’t pity, not exactly. Patrick had explained it once as more of a deep longing to become a time traveler, so he could be present at every low point in David’s past. Not even to fix anything or swoop in and save the day, but just to be there, hand on his shoulder, letting him know that someday, things would be different. This impulse was familiar to David. He wanted a DeLorean to appear whenever he thought of a younger, closeted Patrick, confused and trying so hard to please everyone. 

“That’s not us though. I’m always going to care what you think,” Patrick said, kissing his forehead. 

“Ok, not that I’m complaining, at all, but you seem extra cuddly.”

“Well, it’s not a chore to be close to you, but yeah. You’re a tactile person, David. Does it help?”

_ Touch-starved _ , Sebastien had once called him. 

David nodded. “It helps.”

*

“How did I not know you were on the Dean’s List every semester at Western?” David asked, flabbergasted as he read through a printed-out copy of Patrick’s resume during a lull in the flow of customers at the store. 

“I don’t know, when exactly would that have come up? ‘Hi, I’m Patrick, I was on the Dean’s List because I definitely wasn’t having sex with girls in college.’ ‘Happy anniversary, David! Did I ever tell you about the incredible social capital that being on the Dean’s List generated for me?’”

“Ok, ok. Sure. But what about all this volunteer work you did after college in El Salvador for a microlending nonprofit, helping expand women-owned small businesses? Or how about this - you apparently co-chaired a very active committee of urban planners, city government officials, local businesses, and nonprofits to protect a vital commercial corridor in London, Ontario from gentrification, because it was integral to the economic health of the local resettled refugee population?” David read off. 

Patrick turned away from him, scratching at the back of his neck in what looked like embarrassment, which David was having a hard time understanding. 

“Um, when were you going to tell you me you were a certified badass in helping people with the power of business?” David asked, legitimately wanting an answer. 

“Probably never? I really don’t like bragging.” Patrick replied, still pretending to restock the bath salts. 

“Why the fuck have you been working here, though? That’s the real question.”

Patrick turned around at that, leaving the poor, overstocked bath salts alone. “David, I’ve  _ loved _ working here with you, helping create this place with you. These have been the best years of my life. I wouldn’t change anything.” 

“You’ve got to submit this resume, Patrick. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Patrick smiled broadly at him, capturing David’s face in his hands from across the counter and bringing him in for a kiss. 

*

While Patrick was out procuring lunch from the cafe, Alexis strolled into the store. 

“I walked past Patrick on my way here, and I see he ditched that tragic red henley from yesterday. Did you clear things up, then?” she asked, manhandling all the bath bombs and making David’s blood pressure spike. 

“You know what, we did. And you didn’t help at all.”

“I know. I feel like I might have given you bad advice. I talked to Patrick last night, and again just now, and kind of got the impression this whole thing might not be all your fault?” she hedged, little bird arms coming up into that strange t-rex pose she always did. 

“No, you think?” David bit back. 

“I’m sorry, David! So Patrick mentioned you two might be hiring someone? I have a suggestion.”

“I’m not hiring Ted’s niece, Alexis. I know you said she finished her community service, but I’m just not comfortable with a budding arsonist working in my store.”

“Not Anya, David! Mandy!” 

“Mandy, like Wendy’s daughter Mandy?” David asked, trying to follow. 

“Yes! You know she’s been interning for me while she finishes her final semester of business school at Elmdale College! She’s actually really great - a super hard worker, and would totally be able to handle you.”

“Handle me - you know what? If she can ‘handle’  _ you _ , tell her to call me.”

“Ugh! I said I’m sorry, David! Mandy’s really great though. And she also mentioned something about how you were, like, the sweetest babysitter she ever had, which sounds a little, um, off-brand for you? She wouldn’t say why though.”

“Fuck off, Alexis. Oh, and that beard oil you were looking for yesterday is in the back, if you want to get it. Tell Ted that I, David Rose, his brother-in-law, said his scruff is hot.”

Alexis flipped him off on her way out the door, with a grin. 

*

Later, after the store's doors were shut and locked, David and Patrick ordered and demolished a pepperoni pizza and drank, just like they did every Friday night after inventory was finished. They were perched side by side on the display table, jars of hand cream pushed to the side. 

Halfway through the second bottle of local cab franc, David said, “What does it say about me that I don’t want anything else, other than all this?”

Patrick paused before answering him. “I don’t know. What does it say about me that I do?”

“As long as you don’t want a threesome or a baby, I think we’re going to be ok.” 

Patrick leaned his head on David’s shoulder, heavy and tired. “I don’t want those things, David.”

Just then, Patrick’s phone buzzed once, from beside him on the table. Patrick ignored it, nuzzling his head into David’s neck. 

“Hon, aren’t you going to check that? It could be the job people,” David said, proud of himself. 

“It’s late, so it’s probably just Ray - he’s gotten really into competitive lumberjacking lately, and is trying to get me to start a fantasy league with him,” Patrick said, but he checked his phone anyway.

“Is that a sex thing? Please say that’s not a sex thing,” David said, hopefully, surreptitiously typing ‘lumberjacking’ into the Urban Dictionary app on his phone as Patrick checked his notifications. 

“Oh my God, David - they want to schedule an interview over Skype for tomorrow. And Trish, the woman who supervised my internship back in college, is the Executive Director now!”

“Wow. This is really sounding like a sure thing.” 

David was so happy for him. Like so, so happy.

*

Tucked into bed, Patrick’s arm snug around him, David said, “Do you think I’m boring?”

“David. You’re the least boring person I’ve ever met.”

“But you don’t think I should, I don’t know, want to do more, or something?” 

“Hon, are you happy?” Patrick asked, breath warm on the back of his neck.

“Yes, definitely. Really, really happy.” David really was. This shouldn’t still be earth-shattering to admit, but occasionally stopped him in his tracks, when he was caught unaware of just how fucking happy he was. When he’d first been falling in love with Patrick, his actual face had hurt from building up the muscles required to smile so much. 

“Then no, I don’t think you should do anything else. But if that ever shifts, and there’s something you want to change or do differently, I’ll always be there to help make it happen.” Patrick kissed the knob at the base of his neck. 

“I know, you’re very good at that. ‘I’ll get the money.’ Did I ever tell you how hard that got me, when you said that? I think I have a competence kink.”

“That makes sense. I can be very competent,” Patrick replied, hips shifting against David’s in a way that was obviously intentional. 

“Mm. Yeah. You can be. Sometimes. You know what would be really, um, skillful of you though, is if you took off your clothes and mine and just...” David shifted back against Patrick in an exaggerated full-body stretch. “Put your skin against mine like that. I don’t think I even want to fuck - I just want to feel you.”

Patrick’s hands found the edge of David’s sleep shirt, hiking it up his back and pulling it over his head, warm fingers tracing over the uncovered skin. He did the same with David’s boxer briefs, sliding them down and off his legs, before getting out of his own clothes and pressing himself against David’s back. 

David let out a sigh at that, all that sweet, warm skin against his own, and fell asleep. 

*

David texted Stevie in the morning as he got ready for work. Patrick was staying behind at home to do his interview, and David was an evolved-enough person to know he didn’t want to be alone today. 

**David: ** Hey are you working today

**Stevie: ** No. You need something?

**David: ** ...Have you talked to Patrick

**Stevie: ** Yes, dumbass. He’s my friend too. You hanging in there? 

**David: ** Mostly

Want to hang out at the store with me today and scare off all my customers

**Stevie: **You got any of the really good cheese from that lady who hugs her goats every morning?🐐+❤️=🧀

**David: ** Maybe

You coming?

**Stevie: ** Be there at 9

David really loved Stevie.

Putting his phone in his pocket, David walked over to where Patrick was staring intently at his computer screen from his spot on the left side of the couch, browser pulled up to the organization’s mission statement and values page. 

“You’re going to be great, hon. Make sure to talk about the Dean’s List,” David said, hands squeezing Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick let out a surprised laugh, a visible amount of tension sluicing off him. “I will. Are you going to be ok today?”

“I’m good. I’m going to be good. And I texted Stevie. She’s going to babysit me a little so I don’t spiral.”

“Leaning on your friends - that’s good, David.”

“Look at me, the pinnacle of personal growth. Nail this interview, ok?” David said, meaning it at least 80%. 

Patrick tipped his head back, and David leaned down to kiss him upside-down, enjoying the way Patrick’s bottom lip felt trapped between his at this angle. 

*

As Stevie pilfered a second tub of whipped goat’s milk feta from the cooler and a spoon from the back room, David’s phone buzzed. 

**Patrick:** I got the job. 

Well, alright then. Everything was going to change, wasn’t it.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week, Patrick spoiled him rotten with his touch. Hands on his waist as David called Mandy to set up an interview, head on his shoulder as they watched TV at home, ankles interlocked with his under their kitchen table during breakfast.

That weekend, they had gone full-on hermit in their apartment as David prepared himself for Patrick’s first day with the gravitas of a soldier’s spouse about to send their loved one off to war. Patrick had fucked him into the mattress, blew him against the shower wall, and rimmed him over the arm of their couch. 

But now it was Monday, and Patrick kissed him goodbye against the door frame before David left for work. This would have been perfectly normal, if Mondays weren’t traditionally one of Patrick’s days to cover the store. But today, for the first Monday in years, Patrick would be working somewhere else. Working on decidedly not-with-David things. And David would be working with Mandy. 

“Have a good day at work, hon,” David said when they broke apart. “Fuck, that feels weird to say.”

“I know. It is weird. I think we can let it feel weird for a while,” Patrick said, forehead leaned against his.

“As long as you’ll still meet me at the cafe for dinner, and not get on a flight to El Salvador to become some sort of Small-Business-Without-Borders emissary, I think I’ll live.”

Patrick kissed him again. “I’ll be there, David.”

*

David was grateful for Mandy. She was enthusiastic and earnest, not a smidge of irony or sarcasm about her. She was patient with the customers, and she handled all the products with reverence, as though they were precious, a sentiment David shared. Covertly observing the way she meticulously rearranged the lip balms in the aftermath of a visit from an egregiously fidgety Rolland Jr., David realized he needed to thank Alexis. David slipped into the back room and pulled out his phone.

**David: **So you were right about Mandy. Thank you, Alexis.

**Alexis: **OMG I know. Isn’t she just a little baby dolphin. You’re welcome.

**David: **If you’d just led with that description, I never would have doubted you. I absolutely trust this dolphin with my store.

**Alexis: 🐬🐬🐬** **👌👌👌**

*

That evening, Patrick looked fucking luminous, an absurdity given the awful flourescent lighting of the cafe. A bowl of previously-frozen clam chowder steamed threateningly in front of him. 

“God, David, it was such a good day. They’re working on so many projects, all over the province. And they’re all so passionate about it! So far, they’re planning on me being the logistics guy, sort of translating the clients’ ideas into viable business plans.”

“You mean, just like you did for me,” David said, an insuppressible smile on his face as he felt a swell of warm pride in his chest for this stupidly good person he had somehow married. “To clarify, hopefully not _ just _ like you did for me. I’m not equipped for you to go stealing the hearts of budding entrepreneurs all over Ontario.”

“That’s good to know,” Patrick replied, eyes positively sparkling, which in this particular moment, David couldn’t summon the least bit of bitterness about. “Ok. What do you want, David? There’s got to be something I can do for you?”

“Not a thing. This is perfect. I fucking love seeing you so excited about all of this. No red shirts required.”

Patrick laughed, bright and weightless.

*

The perfect generosity David had felt Monday night lasted him all the way through until Thursday, when the store started actively fucking with him. 

He was going to have to call their credit card processing company because the fucking machine was on the fritz again. Some disgusting person had clogged the toilet with what appeared to be, upon his brief, horrified glance, an entire roll of toilet paper. The speakers were emitting a faint but audible crackle along with soft jazz. And to top it all off, Twyla had automatically included Patrick’s usual tuna sandwich along with David’s cobb salad order, and now David had to not only eat his stupid salad in the presence of less-than-fresh tuna, but he had to eat it _ alone _. In other words, he was losing his mind. 

Mandy could fix exactly none of these things, because these were Patrick things. ‘I’ll just look it up on YouTube and figure it out,’ Patrick things. His personal magician, who made all the messy, boring parts of owning a business invisible to David, and kept him company, and laughed at him in just the right way, so that David could...could do what he loved. Fuck. 

David’s clothes were suddenly too tight, the air was too hot, the Mennonite cologne a customer had sprayed into the air was too musky, and David needed a minute. He made some kind of excuse to Mandy about going to look for more moisturizer in the back, and snuck up the stairs to the second floor. 

He almost never came up here. It was a dusty, unfinished space, with wide plank floors and industrial lighting, only good for storage. But as David sat on a sturdy box full of natural hand sanitizer and caught his breath, he saw the space with new eyes. 

_ Oh shit, there's something I want. _

David called Ronnie. 

*

That night after closing, David knew he needed to burn off some of this frenetic energy he was feeling before he went home. He circled their block on foot, rehearsing in his head how he could pitch this idea without sounding clingy. On the third go-round, his phone rang. Patrick. 

"David, did I just see you walk past our house?"

"Um. Oh, yeah. I forgot something at the store and was heading back to get it." David cringed. 

"Hon. I saw you walk past twice. My desk faces the window, remember?"

Caught. David walked back, until he was in front of their building, Patrick looking down at him from their illuminated living room window on the second floor.

"Come upstairs, ok? Whatever's going on, we'll talk about it. Or I can come outside and walk with you?" Patrick added, kindly. 

David sighed, fiddling with the strap of his leather messenger bag, which was full to bursting with drawings, bid sheets, and a remodeling permit application from town hall. He headed inside. 

Patrick greeted him at the door, taking his bag from him and hanging it up on a hook. "Are you hungry? I bought some sourdough starter from Mutt at last weekend's farmers market, and finally got the chance to bake with it today between meetings. How about grilled cheese?"

"Sounds great. Do we have gruyère though?" 

"Nope, just Kraft Singles." 

David could see half of the smirk on his face as Patrick rooted through the fridge.

"You say that like I'd be above Kraft Singles."

"You wouldn't be? Where's the line then? Velveeta? Dehydrated parmesan powder from those green cylinder things, or Cheez Whiz straight from the can?"

"You're distracting me, and I appreciate it."

"I know, David. Why were you circling our block like a very noticeable burglar?" Patrick asked, shutting the fridge, blocks of gruyère and Tillamook cheddar in hand.

"You think I'm very noticeable?"

"Focus," Patrick said, as he turned a burner on the stove to low and started preheating the cast iron pan he'd inherited from his grandmother. 

"How can I focus when you're sort of complimenting me?" David retorted.

"Try." Patrick smiled and began grating the cheese, back turned to him. Good, this was easier.

"So. What if, um, you came back to the store."

Patrick stilled. 

"Not like, _ back to the store _back to the store, but physically back to the store. Or more accurately, to the area above the store."

Patrick turned around, and clicked the stove off. "I'm confused. You want me to quit and come back? I will, if you ask me to. You know that." 

"No, no, no. That's not what I meant. I wouldn't ask for that. Not when you're so fucking happy. Here, let me show you." David reached for his bag, and pulled out the drawings and specs he'd worked on with Ronnie. He laid them out flat on their kitchen table.

"Ok. You know the storage room upstairs?"

Patrick nodded, patiently, studying the rough-drawn floor plan. 

“What would you think of turning it into an office?”

All afternoon, David had been steadily falling in love with this idea. Refinishing the plank floors to their original shine, putting up drywall and wainscoting, reglazing the windows to let in more natural light...the list went on. Not that David would be doing any of those things with his own two hands, no. That was where Ronnie came in. 

She'd lost David a little when she started talking about options for adding a second air return for the HVAC system and the type of insulation she'd need to use in between the rafters in order to finish off the ceiling, but that hadn't diminished the shine of the dream for David. If anything, the steady practicality Ronnie had approached the idea with made David feel like it was actually possible. 

David was mid-thought about whether it would be appropriate to continue the store's sand and stone palette upstairs, or go full-tilt and paint everything in shades of Patrick Blue, when Patrick looked up from the drawings.

"David, I love this."

"You do?" David asked, on tenterhooks. 

"Yeah. I didn't want to say anything, because it sounded kind of codependent and pathetic, but I've really missed you. I know it's only been four days, but..." How Patrick could look remotely embarrassed by this admission was beyond David, as he had literally spent the afternoon conspiring on how to get Patrick back into his day-to-day proximity. 

"Oh my God, I've missed you so much. You have no idea," David said, running his hands across Patrick's shoulders. "At least we can be pathetic together. I think that makes it fine."

"I think you're right. Ok. Want to butter the bread now?"

David smiled, so goddamn relieved. "Absolutely."

*

Patrick had agreed for David to oversee the project, not least because he was terrified of Ronnie. It was for the best, because David got to see his shocked face when he flipped on the lights for the first time six eternally-long weeks later. 

"And here's the best part. You see this couch here?" David led Patrick over to a beautiful, leather sofa. "Patrick. It's turns into a _ bed _. I've made us a real pied-à-terre."

"That's a much classier way of saying you made us a place to fuck during work hours."

"Well. You're not wrong," David admitted. 

Patrick sat down on the multi-purpose sofa in question, and gestured for David to sit beside him. “Mandy went home, right?”

“Mmhmm.” 

"And the doors downstairs are locked?"

David nodded.

“And would I be correct in assuming that one of these end table drawers contains everything we might need if we were to take advantage of this opportunity?” Patrick asked.

“That’s correct. Except I really don’t want to get lube on this couch right now. Not on its debut night.”

“David. Get undressed.”

“And what will you be doing?” David asked. 

“Watching.”

David shivered a little at that, before checking to be sure the blinds were tightly closed and returning to stand in front of the now-unfolded couch. Patrick’s arms were crossed behind his head, eyes appraising. 

Thank God that the lighting in here was _ excellent _. David had seen to that. He dealt with his shoes and socks first, as there was no human way to sexily get out of high tops. He then pulled his sweater over his head, resisting the urge to smooth out his hair afterwards. Patrick had told him once how much he loved fucking up his hair. As no one else would be seeing it tonight, David could indulge him. 

Joggers off, David was about to strip out of his shirt and boxer briefs when Patrick interrupted him, hands over his. 

“I’ll take it from here.”

“By all means.”

Patrick leaned forward, peeling David’s remaining clothes off, lips and hands following behind. “You know what’s better than a compromise, David?”

“What.”

“When we both get exactly what we want. On your back, please.”

“So polite.” David settled on his back on the cool leather of the cough. “Wait, are you talking about this place, or a sex thing?” 

“Both. Definitely both.” Patrick quickly stripped out of his own clothes before laying himself out over David and leaning forward to suck on his bottom lip. The luxury of a horizontal, naked, make-out session in the same building as their store wasn’t lost on David. How many times had they done this fully clothed and desperate against the coat hooks in the back room? Even though David wouldn’t trade those memories for anything, this was certainly more comfortable. 

“Speaking of both getting what we want, you wanna sixty-nine again?” David asked, a little dazed from what Patrick’s tongue had been accomplishing in his mouth. 

“Absolutely. Top or bottom?”  


“Bottom. Want to feel you,” David answered, knowing Patrick would understand. 

Once they got the angles right, there was just nothing like this. Patrick’s forearms, bracketing David’s hips, his chest brushing against David’s abdomen, thighs snug around his head. Was it weird to think of sex as cozy? Because that’s what it was. 

Patrick’s mouth felt entirely different upside-down like this, his tongue running over the sensitive top ridge of his cockhead rather than the underside. Trying to make this last given the onslaught, David refocused his efforts on driving Patrick insane. He used his hands, already gripping Patrick’s ass, to encourage Patrick to fuck his face. 

There was something so fucking sexy about knowing things like this - that his buttoned-up, fresh-faced husband really liked to fuck his dick into David’s throat. The rhythm of his mouth on David’s cock faltered, until Patrick gave up and leaned his forehead against David’s thigh, panting. 

“God, David, I can’t, I can’t do both. You’re killing me. You feel so fucking good.” David petted his ass and hips in reassurance, skating a finger tip over his hole. 

“_ Jesus _, David.” 

Patrick bit down on his thigh as he came, stubble scraping up his skin. 

Once he regained his breath, Patrick slipped to the floor in a heap. “Goddamnit, David. Ok, your turn.”

“I don’t need a turn,” David said, admiring his own largesse. 

“Like hell. Here, put your feet on the floor. Come on. I’m not climbing back up there.”

“If you insist,” David faked at rolling his eyes, but definitely could go for an orgasm. 

Patrick pushed his knees apart, and swallowed him down without preamble. David’s hands scrabbled at his short hair, scratching at his scalp as David let his head tip onto the back of the sofa. 

“Patrick, Patrick, I’m there, come on, could you - “

Patrick leaned further forward, letting the tip of his cock into his throat so that David could feel that tight, constricting pressure as he came. Perfect. 

Patrick rested his head against David’s thigh, and David kept petting his hair, mindlessly. 

“So I take it you like your office?”

“I love it. It’s perfect. Especially the couch. Hey, I just remembered. Want me to fix the store's speakers before I start work tomorrow? I think I heard them buzzing when I came in here this afternoon.”

David smiled down at him. "Yes please, Patrick."

**Author's Note:**

> "Conventional things make me weary and old, but I could never be weary of you." - "Practical Things," Nicole Reynolds


End file.
